Stockholm Syndrome
by Alexis Rockford
Summary: Lara muses over a haunting dream while preparing to depart on her second adventure. Decided to dig this out of the closet for those of you who haven't read it. I added the next chap of outtakes! R/R if you haven't already.
1. A Dreamer of Dreams

Has Lara met her match? Or is this only a major case of the  
Stockholm Syndrome  
  
Chapter One: A dreamer of Dreams  
  
  
Lara lay sprawled out on her leopard-skin davenport. She squinted her eyes in rapt  
contemplation as she pored over the map. The Dagger must be concealed in this corridor, she  
thought, caressingly running her fingers over the spot. She popped the lid off her lipstick tube  
and circled the facet in hot pink. The map was very old and nearly illegible, but since Lara lived  
for antiquity, she payed no mind to its faded and frayed condition. The diagram clearly showed  
the east facade of the Great Wall of China. According to legend, the Dagger of Xian, reputed to  
possess the power of the mighty dragon, was hidden here, locked away for all time. Lara coveted  
any artefact within her reach and would stop at nothing to get her way. She lazily stretched,  
showing off her long, muscular thighs and sexy legs. Lara always made a show of everything  
regardless of the fact that there was no one to show off to. She yawned and slowly sat up on her  
luxurious berth. She was in the habit of taking everything at leisure; it was her time or no time.  
She smiled to herself as she heard the familiar clinking of china and the soft, sure tread of her  
servant, Winston, entering the room, bearing a heavily laden tea tray.   
  
  
"Your Earl Grey, Miss Croft," he said in a comforting drone.  
  
  
"Thank you, Winston," she said in as dignified an air as she could muster. She picked up  
the teacup with the grace of a princess and poured herself some tea. Then, she helped herself to  
several watercress sandwiches. Delineating charts, tables, and maps never ceased to make her  
ravenous. As she swallowed, she surveyed Winston carefully for the first time since her youth.  
His appearance hadn't altered much since then; true, he was twenty years older and his hair was  
twenty years whiter, but other than that, he was the same old Winston she had always known and  
loved. His weathered cheeks still reminded her of a comfortable old shoe, too dear to ever part  
with. His creased jowl that crinkled each time he smiled made him even more lovable.   
  
  
But back to the subject at hand . . . Lara finished her repast and looked back at the atlas.  
She picked up her phone and dialed her travel agent. "Hello, Griggs? I wish to charter a plane to  
Beijing tomorrow morning and an autogiro from Beijing to the far north end of the Great Wall at  
11:00 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time." She tapped her long fingernails in annoyance and  
impatience. "Yes, I would like to leave immediately if at all possible. Yes, I'll hold . . ." Lara  
clamped the receiver between her shoulder and her ear and casually began filing her nails.  
  
  
Winston gave her a withering look. "Traveling abroad again, Miss Croft?"   
  
  
Lara gazed at him in disbelief. "You should know me by now, Winston," she said with  
that nefariously wry smile that she always flashed when she thought she was being adroit. "I get  
restless if I reside in my domicile for more than a week." She folded up the map crisply for  
emphasis.  
  
  
"Don't neglect to tell Dr. Kell about your plans," Winston chided as he removed the tray  
from the room.  
  
  
Lara hugged her heart-shaped satin pillow to her chest and scowled. Several weeks ago  
she had been idly conversing with Winston about a strange recurring dream she was having.  
She'd dreamt she was lounging on her couch, when suddenly, a shadowy figure entered her  
room. Startled, she jumped to her feet to see who was there.  
  
  
She could hear the man's deep rhythmic breathing as he crept up behind her. "You must  
come with me," he whispered with a thick accent. "You are the Key."   
  
  
"The key to what?" she wondered as for some strange reason she slipped into  
unconsciousness. When she came to, she was in a dark chamber lit by candlelight. She silently  
rose and sneaked toward a narrow door in the corner of the room. Then, as if by magic, two large  
hands were gagging her. "Let me go!" she cried, struggling to free herself from the deadly grip.  
"You must stay!" demanded a hoarse, feeble voice. "I need you!" Then, she woke up. When she  
had finished her tale, Winston had insisted she see a psychiatrist about it and she reluctantly had.  
Of course, the shrink, Dr. Kell, could tell her nothing besides which she already knew that a man  
was very desperate and sooner or later, Lara would fall into his grips. Lara protested at the  
incredulity of the interpretation and attested to her invincibility all to no avail. Kell was  
determined to keep her in suspense about her dream and keep the cash flowing steadily from her.  
  
  
"Kell is a darn nuisance," she muttered to her self. If Winston had not been within  
earshot, she would've forgone the euphemism.  
  
  
"Miss Croft," crackled a voice in her ear.  
  
  
Startled, she bolted upward from her chair. "Oh, it's you, Griggs," she said, remembering  
the phone call.   
  
  
"Yes, Miss Croft," prattled Griggs. "Your flight is set to depart from Heathrow   
tomorrow. Your helicopter in Beijing is booked as well"  
  
  
"Than you, Griggs," Lara muttered in exhaustion. How she yearned to get away from  
these arrogant, stuffy British aristocrats. She cringed every time someone prefixed her name with  
"Miss." Except when Winston said it. He said it in an affectionate tone that she couldn't help  
smiling at, especially after hours of being addressed as "Miss," so coldly and methodically. It  
meant something when Winston said it. It was merely a common courtesy from her stuffed-shirt  
associates and "friends." Lara sighed wistfully and let the phone slide into the cradle. How she  
longed to be called "Lara, darling" by some love-struck man who'd worship the ground she  
walked upon and would abnegate anything for her, a man she would adore and die for as well.  
Don't think that way, she lectured herself. You've already had your day as far as love is  
concerned. The Fates just determined that it would be a short one. Bleary-eyed, she recalled the  
warm caress of a man who she once believed to be made of iron, firm and steadfast as the rock of  
Gibralter. He turned out to be just like any narrow-minded foppish member of the gentry in the  
end. He wouldn't support her decision to become an archaeologist and didn't care about what she  
knew to be her calling . . . After surviving that cataclysmic plane crash in the Himalayas, she  
knew she was destined to be a recluse, a trouper, a survivor . . . a woman who could stand on her  
own two feet and make something of herself, even at the cost of her family's fortune and respect.   
But he who had been her fortress and strength, who was to become one flesh with her, didn't  
understand her at all! He would abandon her like all the rest.  
  
  
"Well you got what you longed for anyhow, she grumbled. "You wanted to be a loner  
and here you are. You have no friends, no relations; all you've got is you. You looked for a hero  
and found it- in yourself. Could anyone in their right mind ask for more?" But there was so much  
more she needed, more than she could ever admit or fathom. She lacked the one thing needful in  
life, namely love.  
  
  
Dully, she glanced at the newspaper, which was headed by an article about some  
religious cult going berserk about a shipwreck. Her eye carelessly scanned a picture of an  
imposing mysterious Italian man wearing a black fedora and opaque shades. She did a double  
take. There was something strangely- even hauntingly- familiar about that photograph, but she  
couldn't put her finger on it. She shuddered, as if with cold, and cast it aside.  



	2. The Great Wall

Chapter Two: The Great Wall  
  
  
Authors note: I have very limited knowledge of guns and helicopters so please bear with any  
mistakes I make in that venue.  
  
The night before, Lara had set her alarm clock to early the next morning- at 3 a.m. to be exact- so  
she would arrive in China at a decent hour. It had seemed a fairly logical plan at the time, but  
now that the darned contraption was ringing in her ear after a mere five hours of sleep, Lara  
thought that the action was quite rash. As soon as she pressed the snooze button on her alarm  
clock, she remembered that today she was beginning her quest to find the dagger of Xian. She sat  
up in bed and sleepily looked around. The next moment, she was on the floor, pulling on her  
seasoned khaki shorts and aquamarine tank top. She hummed a cheerful tune as she buckled her  
belt around her waist and slipped her trusty pistols into their holsters. Then, she grabbed her  
backpack, which contained her shotgun and First-Aide kit and headed downstairs. "Good  
Morning, Winston!" she greeted her faithful butler, who was groggily clomping down the steps  
behind her. He merely groaned and tried his best to keep up with his mistress.   
  
"Will you be taking tea this morning, Miss Croft?" he asked in as genteel a voice as he could  
under the circumstances.  
  
Lara paused her quick, sprint-like stride long enough to reply, "I wish I could, Winston, but the  
time difference between here and China refuses me the privilege." She stooped down to put on  
her rugged pair of hiking boots which she always kept in the ballroom when she wasn't using  
them.  
  
"As you wish, Miss Croft."  
  
Lara stood up and smiled once more on her beloved butler. Each time she left on an expedition,  
she gazed at his face almost pitifully, wondering if she would live to see him again. Then, she  
would blink back the childish tears in her eyes and march out of the house as quickly as she  
could, an action which lessened the heartache somewhat. This particular morning was no  
different; she bid him adieu with her smiling eyes and headed out into the darkness of predawn.   
  
The night was very still and almost completely silent as Lara crunched across the driveway to her  
large iron gates. She noiselessly undid the latch and tiptoed to the other side of the gate. Then,  
without looking back, she headed for her garage to get her Rolls Royce. She knew that Winston  
would lock the gate behind her as he always did. As she slipped the key into the ignition, she  
reflected on her last great adventure- her pursuit of the fabled Atlantean Scion. It had been one  
great thrill after another from outwitting the devious Jacqueline Natla to dodging flames in the  
infamous "torch room." She wondered if her new exploit would be as memorable. Little did she  
know that her life was going to be changed forever in a way she never dreamed possible.  
  
An hour or so later, she arrived at Heathrow Airport in London. She quickly checked her bags  
and flashed her passport which had been ratified by the Chinese government nearly a month  
before. Hurrying to the gate of departure, she felt as though a pair of evil eyes following her every  
move. "Don't be so paranoid," she told herself. But the dark feeling of foreboding wouldn't leave  
her. It clung to her like a burr and seemed to grow larger every moment as she boarded the plane.  
As she taxied down the runway, she began to dose off. Through the bleary half-consciousness of  
her mind rang the words: "You are the Key; you are the Key." She broke out into a hot sweat as  
the dream relived itself from the moment of uncertainty on the davenport to the last chilling  
repetition of "I need you!"  
  
Suddenly, a cooling breeze rushed into her mind like a soft touch of a human hand. The dream  
was real and definitely prophetic, but perhaps not all that bad. In fact, she rather liked it; it had  
become as familiar as a long-lost lover or friend. She sighed as the dream faded into the back of  
her mind once more Everything was going to be alright . . .   
  
**********************  
  
"We are now approaching your destination," rang a clear, sappy voice. "Please keep your safety  
belts securely fastened until the plane comes to a complete stop."  
  
Lara stretched and sat up wearily from her sleep. Suddenly, her eyes popped open in disbelief.  
Surely, she couldn't have slept all that time! But evidently she had, for she was now descending  
through the clouds into that busy metropolis known as Beijing. An instant boost of adrenaline  
surged through her veins. This was it; she was here; her adventure had finally begun! She took in  
several deep breaths only to realize that the oxygen in the cabin wasn't nearly as fresh as it had  
been twenty hours before. After a few moments, the sharp pain in her oxygen-deprived head had  
calmed down and she could think more clearly. As soon as she got off the plane, she would head  
over to the heliport to board her chartered autogiro. She hoped that Young Yang Ho would be her  
pilot again. He was so polite and innocent and spoke English fluently as well. "I'm looking  
forward to seeing him again," she thought to herself as the plane landed with a sharp jolt. Finally,  
the plane's engines turned off and she was able to alight from it onto the airport grounds. After  
asking for directions to the heliport in her rusty Chinese, she headed for a remote spot of the  
property highlighted by a bright red sign of familiar Chinese characters. She began running as  
soon as she was close enough to see Yang Ho smiling at her from his chopper.   
  
"Welcome aboard, Miss Lara!" he called in his Oriental accent as she joined him in the cockpit.  
"It is very nice to see you again."  
  
"The pleasure's all mine!" she returned in a jovial tone. "How has the world been treating you,  
Mr. Ho?"  
  
"Not at all badly," he assured her as he began the propeller. "What about you?"  
  
"I never felt better!" she called over the whirr of the propeller. She smiled teasingly at him and  
squeezed his arm as they began to ascend. Soon, they were soaring up and over the airport  
towards the Great Wall. The scenery that whizzed by the windshield was perfectly breathtaking,  
but Lara had other things on her mind.  
  
"We're headed due north at about 100 km per hour," remarked Yang after an unusually long  
period of silence.  
  
Lara nodded her head in approval. "Lovely. We should reach our location in a fair amount of  
time." Lara's heart was surging with excitement, yet a dark premonition still clouded her mind.  
What was wrong with her? She was the invincible Lara Croft and nothing could stand in her way  
once she set her mind to something. And she would never change her mind about how much she  
wanted the dagger, would she?  
  
These thoughts nagged her incessantly until the moment she arrived at her destination. . After  
making a pass by the Great Wall, Yang remarked, "It doesn't look as if I'll be able to make a safe  
landing on that rocky terrain below."   
  
"Not a problem," Lara answered as she opened the hatch and expertly tossed a rope out the side  
of the helicopter. Making sure that her backpack was securely in place, she slowly walked to the  
door and began to descend the rope. Yang watched in fascination as Lara dropped the last several  
meters to the ground, near a cave entrance. "See you later, Miss Lara!" he called loudly enough  
to be heard over the din of the propeller. Sighing a worried sigh, he turned his copter around and  
headed back to the heliport.   
  
Lara waved at him until his whirlybird disappeared into the mist and then turned to survey her  
surroundings. She appeared to have dropped into a barren cavern that perhaps had never felt the  
tread of human footsteps. Hesitatingly, she walked out of the cave into the sunlight. She saw the  
helicopter for a brief second before it disappeared for good. "Well," she thought, "There's no  
turning back now." Lara craned her neck to the right to see a tower high up on a rocky crag.  
Immediately, she began devising a plan to get up there.  
  
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling snarl caught her attention. She whipped around to see a rare Bengal  
tiger on the promontory behind her, growling and in pouncing poise. Impulsively, she dashed to  
her right into a shallow mountain spring while readying her pistols. When she turned around, the  
great orange beast was following her into the water! She aimed at him, whispered a silent prayer  
and began pumping bullets into him. The cat howled in pain, but would not venture any further  
into the water. Within minutes, the animal collapsed into the water, blood trickling from its  
wounded body.  
  
Lara watched as the scarlet stream inched toward her. Suddenly, it swirled to her right. Lara  
followed it with her eye until it splashed against the back corner of the pool. "What a fine path-  
beater!" she exclaimed as she climbed out where the bloody stream had pointed. Immediately she  
was faced with a sheer rock wall. Fortunately it was only five feet high and she scaled it with  
ease. She carefully picked her way along the rock ledge until it stopped before spying a pillar of  
stone diagonally in front of her to the left. She jumped to that ledge and ran along it until veered  
sharply to the left, continued several meters and ended at another stone block. "Child's play,"  
Lara mused sardonically as she scaled it with ease. "Pretty clever those Chinese."  
  
Lara realized that she couldn't get any higher from this vantage point and turned around to spot  
an identical block above the path she had just come from. She shrugged and expertly vaulted  
across to it as if it were a mere stepping stone across a brook instead of a crag ten meters off the  
ground. The sound of the tiger's mate from down bellow neither surprised or worried her. She  
casually picked it off before continuing her journey. She was about to turn left and begin to  
ascend the crumbling staircase to the tower when she spotted a familiar shape on a ledge across a  
short gap to her right. She expertly cleared the gap and tiptoed along the rock until she came  
upon what appeared to be a small granite statuette of a dragon. "Aha!" she cried as she added the  
small carving to her backpack. "It must be one of the fabled Dragons of Xian. According to the  
legend, the monks of Xian left three of these 'secrets' in each of the areas you must traverse to  
find the dagger. Supposedly, they placed some of them in dangerous or hard to get to places to  
distract adventurers from their real goal and possibly cause their death."  
  
After this little lecture to herself, she turned around and returned to the other ledge so she could  
continue her way up the tower. After three steps, the stone staircase disappeared completely and  
slanted to the left. Cautiously Lara stepped on the slanted slope and did a running jump across the  
gap to a barely visible ledge on the other side. One more quick boost and she was inside the  
tower.  
  
The turret walls were slimy with mold but other than that, it was completely empty. "What in the  
world . . . " began Lara. Then she spotted a metal grate in the front right corner of the room.  
"Aha!" she remarked as she advanced toward it a little too casually. As soon as her foot hit the  
metal, she knew she'd made a mistake. The grate dropped into the floor and sent her falling into a  
room several stories below. Fortunately, the room was flooded and she landed with a splash in  
the murky water.  
  
Shivering, Lara stood up in the water, which was only waist deep in the middle of the room, and  
climbed out. In front of her was a tightly bolted door; to her left, several stairs appearing to lead  
nowhere. She tiptoed up the steps and stared into the water when they stopped. "Hmm," she said,  
lifting her head to look across the room. There, in the opposite corner was a rusty old lever  
accessible by a narrow ledge. She vaulted across the icy water and grabbed onto the block for  
dear life. After pulling herself up, she slowly approached the lever, got a good grip on it, and  
pulled it down with all her might. There was a creaking sound and then a loud bang as the door  
opened and hit the wall. Lara lowered herself down into the water and waded over to the now  
ajar door.  
  
Lara readied her pistols and walked out onto the rampart between this turret and the next. Just  
when Lara was about to reholster her guns and reconnoiter the area, her actions were halted by  
the sudden flapping of wings. Three ravens appeared seemingly out of nowhere and swooped  
down to attack her. Quickly, Lara took aim at the first approaching bird and fired several rounds  
into him until he fell. Cursing under her breath, she fumbled to reload the pistols before the  
others came too close. She dashed across the rampart to the other side and reverse dived to face  
her foes. She squeezed the triggers with all she was worth and jumped from side to side to  
confuse them. Finally, the third uttered a dying squawk and plummeted to the ground.  
  
Panting heavily, Lara replenished the ammunition once more and holstered her colts. She hastily  
scanned the terrain and noticed a locked guardhouse door behind her and a large breach in the  
wall in front of her. After making a quick search for the key on the rampart, she concluded that it  
must be down below. Cautiously she approached the dilapidated section of the wall and peered  
down. Directly below it was a freshwater pool. Holding her breath, Lara ran onto the sloping ruin  
and slid off into the pool below. The cold water made her skin prickle in pain, but she ignored it  
as she swam around, searching for the key. Finally, she spotted a small tunnel leading off to her  
right and squeezed into it. At the end lay a large rusty object that was unmistakably a key. Lara  
smiled triumphantly as she grabbed her prize and turned around to return to the surface.   
  
As soon as her head had popped out of the water, Lara was aware of a familiar snarling growl.  
Another tiger was prowling around the pool, waiting hungrily for her to exit the water and  
become his afternoon snack. Quickly, Lara calculated the tiger's moves, boosted herself out of  
the water when he was at the opposite end of the pool, and immediately opened fire with her  
pistols. Within a matter of minutes, the great cat was no more.   
  
Once the beast was dead, Lara began investigating the landscape for a possible way to get back  
up the wall. She was about to try scaling it when she spotted a tall hill just to the right of the  
breach she slid down. She ascended the mound and grabbed the edge of the wall to pull back up  
to the rampart. She fumbled with the key until it fit into the lock and opened the forbidding  
guardhouse door. Inside the forbidding chamber was a rickety old ladder leading to a stony loft.  
Lara was just about to ascend the ladder when a large, hoary, eight-legged creature scrambled out  
of the darkness and began to nibble at her ankles. "Argh!" grunted Lara as she jumped back  
outside the doorway. As she grabbed her pistols, she noticed a second mammoth arachnid  
crawling toward her. Lara shot several rounds into the first beast while the second advanced  
toward her with menacing velocity. After it was dead, she jumped backwards onto the rampart  
while two more black widows followed the other toward her. Lara pulled the trigger hard until  
only one of the spiders remained. When she tried to shoot it, she realized her guns had jammed.  
Quickly, she threw her weapons at the unfortunate spider who collapsed after the blow, finally  
vanquished. Lara sighed and relief and cautiously stepped forward to retrieve her beloved pistols.  
As she picked them up, her hand brushed against the hairy underside of the dead arthropod. She  
shuddered and drew back her hand quickly to make the unpleasant prickly sensation go away as  
soon as possible  
  
After repairing her colts, she holstered them and proceeded into the newly opened tower. It was  
another small, dank room with nothing but a ladder, a crumbling staircase, and a second bolted  
door adorning it. Lara wisely ignored the time-worn stairwell and ascended the ladder, which she  
assumed must be newer. She was right, for at the top of the ladder on a large shelf was another  
rusty key. She grasped it tightly in her right hand and jumped back down to the floor. She  
sprinted to the far side of the chamber and used the key in the bolted door.  
  
Remembering what had happened last time, she quickly readied her pistols and gingerly  
proceeded down the narrow hallway. At first, Lara could've sworn that there was no movement  
at all in the passage, but suddenly, the ceiling came to life and three more spiders dropped down  
in front of her. After disposing of them, she was just about to continue down the hall when she  
felt a familiar nipping at her heels. She reverse-rolled and ended the fourth spider's life as  
quickly as she had the others.  
  
Looking around the small room at the end of the passage, Lara spotted a skeleton on the floor,  
clutching a box of shotgun shells. He was evidently newly killed, for the shells were at most fifty  
years old and still in good condition, not to mention that there were still cloths stuck to the  
corpse. She grabbed the shells and moved on.   
  
But before she traversed much farther, she realized that the room was a dead end; the only outlet  
in it was a small crack in the middle of the far wall. She scratched her head in thought before  
kneeling down in front of the wall and trying to pull at least a section of it out. The wall began to  
crumble and she jumped back as a great chunk fell off, a chunk large enough for her to squeeze  
through, which she hastily did.  
  
Inside the passage, there was a long ramp that led down to what appeared to be another flooded  
room. She slid down the ramp and steadied herself on the edge of the water just in time to find  
that the whole room was booby-trapped! Sharp blades shot out either side of the room across the  
murky waters. Lara panicked for a moment before discovering a small crevice on the left side of  
the room, Cautiously, she waded in the water, grabbed the crevice, and shimmied across the wall,  
well above the reach of the razor-like disks. When she reached the far side of the chamber, she  
carefully dropped into the water and swam past two more slits in the wall that were shooting  
blades across the length of the pool. In the corner of the room, there was another hallway which  
she carefully boosted herself into. Then, she sat down for a few minutes, panting and letting the  
water drip off her. "I'm glad that's over," she thought to herself as she got to her feet. Little did  
she know that the worst was yet to come!  
  
  
  



	3. Info From a Thug

Chapter Three: Info From a Thug   
  
Lara surveyed the hallway ahead of her with extreme trepidation. It appeared to be an  
ordinary stone cavern just like any other she had yet encountered, but Lara knew better. She  
crouched down on the ground and looked intently at the floor's surface. She noticed many  
crevices on it and realized that it was composed of a sheet of slate, cracked and crumbled by age  
that would collapse into chalk if she lingered too long on it. Lara rose and took a sprint stance.  
"Ready," she murmured, "set, go!" Lara dashed across the snapping floorboards as fast as her  
feet would carry her, leaving a gaping hole behind her where the hall had once been. But as Lara  
glanced back at the abyss, a door came crashing down and blocked her view of it. Startled, Lara  
turned around, her eyes darting every which way until she heard an unmistakable rumbling  
sound. "Oh, shoot," she muttered as two large boulders came rolling towards her, spanning the  
entire width of the room. She darted into the middle of the room and ran away from them as fast  
as she could. She was about to give up hope and collapse when she spotted a hole in the left  
corner of the room. She leapt blindly into it, just missing some deadly spikes and falling to the  
story below.  
  
Lara quickly regained her feet and looked about her. There was some automatic pistol clips on  
the ground left by some previous explorer so she snatched them up, just to realize that the spiked  
walls of the room were closing in! She took a standing jump and grabbed the ledge of the tunnel  
ahead of her and pulled up just before the spikes crushed her body. Panting, Lara slid to the floor  
of this new hallway to rest a minute.  
  
After she had quenched her thirst with a canteen and her breathing began to slow down, Lara  
stood up and reconnoitered. Ahead of her lay a tunnel with horizontal blades snapping open and  
close across it. A quick look at the ground revealed another collapsing floor. "This is not my  
day," Lara grimaced between clenched teeth as she sprinted down the hall and cleared the deadly  
hurdles in the nick of time. In the next room sat a glowing green statuette, obviously the next  
Dragon of Xian. Lara hastily pocketed it and exited the room just as a second set of spiked walls  
closed in behind her. She had now entered another hallway which at least had a stable floor. The  
left wall was not as kind. It, too, was spiked and slid toward her with amazing rapidity. Lara ran  
to the end of the hall and slid off a small ramp backward into yet another chamber with  
claustrophobic dimensions. As the jagged nails inched ever nearer, Lara quickly discovered  
another broken floor tile and made use of it for her exit.  
  
Lara fell another story into a rocky cave-like structure with two large circular blades incessantly  
wheeling down its length. She carefully timed a run by them into another cavern where five large  
spiders attacked her. After disposing of them, Lara noticed a rope slide that flew across a deep  
abyss to the far side of the cave. She was just about to use it when she decided to explore the  
chasm first. She peered into the dark pit and saw a stone ledge fairly dripping with lichen only a  
few dozen feet below her. Intrigued, Lara crawled on the floor and lowered herself onto it,  
landing softly. To her left, she spotted another rickety old ladder which she proceeded to descend  
til she reached the abyss floor. Only then did Lara realize how huge the abyss was. It stretched for  
at least a mile in front of her, strewn with several human skeletons and more greenish grey  
lichen. Suddenly, she heard a mighty roar and felt the ground quake beneath her as a  
Tyrannosaurs Rex burst out of the murky shadows on the far end of the cave, snapping his  
fearsome jaws at her.  
  
Now it was Lara's turn to quake. Frantically, she made her way back to the ladder and climbed  
back up to the mossy rock, taking potshots at the prehistoric beast with her pistol all the while.  
This only infuriated the reptile more and he clawed at her with his massive arms, nearly knocking  
her off her safe ledge. Lara reached for her shotgun and blasted the T-Rex right between the eyes.  
The dinosaur was startled for a moment but then commenced his clawing and stomping. Just  
when Lara thought things couldn't get worse, the dinosaur's mate came charging at her from the  
other side of the clearing. Lara sunk another shell into the first's forehead and he plummeted to  
the ground, but the second, who was even larger than his mate had reached the rock by this time  
and smacked Lara off her ledge and back onto the ladder, which she slid down. Now she and the  
monster were almost face to face. Lara kept her wits about her and dodged between the T-Rex's  
legs, making a run for the far side of the pit. The lizard was confused at first but soon turned  
around and ran after her. Lara finally reached the shelter of a small nook in the far wall and  
squeezed into it where she was surprised to find the Third Dragon, a gold one, and a grenade  
launcher. Lara fumbled to load the gun with one of the bulky grenades as the green mammoth  
came closer. Finally, the gun was ready. She aimed it at the monster and said a silent prayer as  
she fired it. The grenade lobbed out and landed on the floor next to the dinosaur, who looked at it  
in befuddlement for a few seconds before it blew him to bits.  
  
Lara closed her eyes against the sight and then slowly eased out of the alcove. She took her time  
returning across the pit floor, stopping only to fire a second grenade at the first dinosaur to make  
sure she was dead. After the explosion, Lara climbed all the way up the ladder and found herself  
once more on the ledge with the zing line. Lara grabbed the handle and zipped to the other side of  
the pit, shrieking in delight. She released as soon as she was across the canyon and fell to the  
ground several feet below.   
  
A nearby snarl warned her of the attack of an approaching tiger. Lara pelted its hide with pistol  
holes until it slumped to the floor. She did the same to its mate a few moments later. Lara entered  
the tunnel that the tigers had emerged from and found a smaller cave with a campfire, several  
crates with an odd insignia stamped on it, and a large door at the opposite end, furnished with the  
same symbol. Lara scratched her head in wonder as she approached the bolted doors. She was  
just about to pry them open when she was barraged by a flurry of gunfire seemingly coming from  
nowhere. Suddenly, a dark man in black robes flew out of the shadows and made his assault.  
Lara jumped out of his way and then proceeded to kick his gun out of his hands and knock him to  
the floor. Just as he started to get up, she trained her pistols on him and remarked coyly, "Pardon  
me, if that was just your way of trying the doors for me."  
  
The man seemed amused by this comment and chuckled softly. "With a tommy-gun on my key  
ring, eh?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
Lara nodded in equal amusement. "Though, not anymore," she reminded him, nodding in the  
direction his gun had flown, "so, after you."   
  
The thug rubbed his neck and grunted to himself before replying, "Somehow," he glanced at her  
figure, "you don't behave like you've got a monk's blood."  
  
Lara smiled tightly. "I understand that 'somehow' is in my favor, so indulge me about the  
Dagger." She aimed the pistols at his head. "I'd be indebted with your life."   
  
"These doors," the man nodded to the closed portal behind her, "are waiting for the right one, the  
right time to arrive. And then," he paused for emphasis, "the Dagger's blade will honor the hearts  
of those who believe. So unless you pledge your loyalty as well . . ." The thug shrugged and  
produced a flask from his long, dark robe.  
  
"And which one is that?" Lara persisted as she eyed the bottle warily.  
  
"To the sins and fortunes of Marco Bartoli!" the thug pronounced in a matter-of-fact way. He  
took a swig from the jug, wiped his lips, and then immediately began making horrible gagging  
noises as if he were suffocating. Suddenly, he keeled over, dead.   
  
"Perhaps not just yet then," Lara sighed in rejection as. she holstered her guns. She carefully  
picked up the bottle and examined its contents. "Arsenic," she announced to no one in particular  
as she cast it aside. "Now why in bloody hell would he kill himself?" Lara paced back in forth  
about the campsite before noticing a laptop computer that had been set up on one of the crates.  
She knelt before it and tried to access the internet connection.  
  
Password needed! The screen flashed. Lara glanced at the user name: Claudio Botticelli. So that  
was the man's name. She grimaced and entered a few incorrect passwords before entering  
"Marco Bartoli" and gaining access to the internet. She typed "Marco Bartoli" in the computer's  
search engine and patiently waited for results. She searched several sites before finding the one  
she was looking for. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "Gianni Bartoli; Via Caravelli, Venice!" 


	4. Admonitions and Advice

Chapter Four: Admonitions and Advice  
  
Lara slumped back in her first class seat on flight 1785 from Beijing to Paris. It had been  
a long day, too long in Lara's opinion. And all she had accomplished was surviving another  
deathtrap labyrinth and finding out that she had to go elsewhere first to attain her goal. It was so  
infuriating when she was wrong! On the other hand, she would have a much longer adventure  
now that she had to visit this Bartoli chap. An evil smile crept slowly across Lara's face and  
scared the unsuspecting old lady next to her. Maybe this was a good development after  
all . . .  
  
****************************  
  
Several hours later, Lara was walking through the Paris terminal where she had a three  
hour layover. She hurried down the hall to the gate of her next departure. Lara had scheduled this  
layover in Paris on purpose, so she could have a few hours to spend with her good friend, Jean-  
Yves, before returning to England.  
  
As she reached the departure gate, which also happened to be the place she had arranged to meet  
her companion, she saw a middle aged man with sand hair and a slight paunch waving frantically  
at her. "Bonjour, Lara!" The Frenchman cried as he ran to embrace her. "I have been waiting for  
you such a long time. How are you, ma cherie?"  
  
Lara grinned as she slung her backpack to the floor so she could return the hug. "Hello, Jean, it's  
so nice to see you."  
  
"Oui," replied Jean, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's fortunate that I was able to greet you  
today, for I am traveling back to my crew's dig in Egypt tomorrow." He smiled warmly at her  
before continuing. "So, where's the dagger? Tell me about your adventure."  
  
"Not much to tell," Lara confessed as she swung her bag back on her shoulder. "I didn't get the  
dagger. It was sealed in a vault protected by this odd thug who told me that I had to believe in the  
sins and fortunes of Marco Bartoli in order to attain it. Then, he promptly swallowed some  
arsenic and killed himself."  
  
Jean's smile vanished and his countenance darkened. "This does not bode well, Lara," he began  
slowly. "This man you encountered was most likely the follower of a religious cult of some sort,  
and cults are dangerous things. They kill anyone who is not a member of their sect, and often kill  
themselves if they think they have been untrue to their faith. Was this man Italian like his leader,  
Bartoli?"  
  
"I believe so. His name was Claudio Botticelli, according to his laptop computer, and comes  
from Venice."  
  
"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Jean. "Lara, you must not pursue this crazy scheme. This Marco Bartoli  
must be the leader of the Fiama Nera, the most deadly cult in Italy."  
  
"Calm down, Jean," Lara countered. "I hardly think that any old religious cult can prove much of  
a threat to me. Remember what I did to Natla's goons? I can do the same here, Jean. You just  
have to trust me."  
  
"But you do not understand," protested the Frenchman. "This cult is comprised of hundreds of  
Italy's strongest men who are armed with the best weapons money can buy. Heed my advice,  
mon ami, do not do this crazy thing."  
  
Lara was deeply touched by her friend's concern, but she was also becoming irked by his  
patronizing manner. "I am the invincible Lara Croft, Jean. I can handle everything. All I have to  
do is drop into their headquarters in Via Caravelli, Venice-"  
  
"Not Via Caravelli! That's the most dangerous neighborhood in Italy. It's like Bourbon Street*  
on steroids."  
  
"I understand your anxiety, Jean-Yves, but aren't you being a bit condescending?"  
  
Jean threw his hands up in disgust. "I am sorry, Lara, but one of these days, I am going to wake  
up to the terrible news that you are dead if you continue to engage in such suicidal missions.  
Now, let us not part angry, but as friends, eh?"  
  
Lara tossed her head and walked away, leaving Jean-Yves in a cloud of doubt and fear for his  
young English friend.  
  
************************  
  
Lara pulled into her drive late that night. Her head was full of the disturbing conversation  
with Jean-Yves that she had so foolishly walked away from. She never had acted so cruelly to  
him in her life as she had that afternoon. All he had ever done was love her like a sister, and how  
had she repaid him? By behaving like a stubborn adolescent and refusing to hear his kind advice.  
Lara shook her head as she alighted from the vehicle and crunched up the walk to her door,  
disgusted with herself for the way she had treated him. She quietly entered the house and was  
about to tiptoe up the stairs so as not to wake Winston, when she heard his footsteps behind her.  
  
"Welcome home, Miss Croft," he whispered, holding out his tray with a steaming pot of Earl  
Gray set so tantalizingly upon it.  
  
Lara smiled warmly at her grandfather-like butler and sat down on the steps to enjoy her  
midnight repast. "You didn't have to wait up for me, Winston," she said as she helped herself to  
the hot liquid, "you're getting on in years and need your rest."  
  
"I know I didn't, Miss Croft," he replied, a smile playing lightly across his worn lips, "that's why  
it was such a pleasure for me to do it."  
  
Lara and Winston exchanged affectionate glances as she drained her cup. "Thank you, Winston,"  
she murmured when she was done, "thank you for everything you do for me. I feel I take you for  
granted far too often." She slowly rose, and her faithful butler followed her up to her room where  
he bid her goodnight and graciously retired. Lara drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips and  
a prayer of thanks in her heart.  
  
***********************  
  
The next morning, Lara arose to the unwelcome news that Julia Kell* was on her way to  
inquire about her favorite patient's exploits. She muttered crossly to herself as she changed from  
her usual tank top and khakis to a more formal sun dress and hurried downstairs to eat breakfast  
before the German intruder arrived.   
  
Winston greeted her in the kitchen with a cheerful good morning and immediately began to fuss  
over her morning meal. Lara sat down at the plain wooden table on the far side of the room,  
contemplating whether or not she should convert part of her ballroom into a dining room later.  
She ate her eggs and bacon in silence and was about to have seconds when a loud knock was  
heard at the door. Winston dutifully trudged to the front door and admitted Dr. Kell.   
  
Doctor Julia F. Kell was a slender brunette of about thirty some odd years with a figure almost as  
stunning as Lara herself. She nearly always wore a neat, white business suit which made her look  
even more attractive than she was. Her hair was usually twisted into a tight bun in the back of her  
head, and her lovely brown eyes wore expensive contacts. Julia was as self-important as any in  
her field and felt she had a right to her opinion about everything. She marched into the kitchen  
immediately proceeding her entrance and stood in front of Lara. "I hope you are well today, Miss  
Croft," she began coldly in her guttural Slavic tongue as Lara threw her fork down in annoyance.  
Kell had spent her early days in Germany and though she hadn't been there for quite some time,  
her German accent was still intact.  
  
"Perfectly," Lara muttered as she glared back at the psychiatrist. "I trust you are feeling the same,  
for the present anyway."  
  
If Kell took Lara's comment as a threat, she didn't show it. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat  
across from the glowering tomb raider. "Tell me in detail of your expedition Miss Croft; did you  
experience that abnormal subconscious fantasia again while you were away?" Kell peered at her  
with deeply interested eyes.  
  
"If you mean that recurring nightmare, just say so!" Lara snapped. "And yes, I did, on the plane  
trip to China. After that, I didn't get much sleep, so I couldn't really have had it again, could I?"  
  
Kell shook her head gravely and jotted down a few notes on her charts. "You are exhibiting some  
very disturbing behavioral patterns today, Miss Croft. I suggest you collect your thoughts and get  
in touch with your subconscious to subdue them."  
  
Lara could fell her temples throb as she jumped to her feet in anger. "Listen, Kell, I don't have  
time for this today. I have to register for a passport from the Italian government, book a flight to  
Venice, check my Colts to see if they're in usable condition-"  
  
"I want you to take one of these," Kell said as she produced a bottle of red pills from her bag. "It  
will make you feel better."  
  
"You want to know what would -really- make me feel better? Get the bloody out of my house!"  
  
Kell rose slowly as one lost in a dream and stared her opponent in the eye. "I didn't want to do  
this, Lara, but I'm going to have to call in a professional."  
  
"You're finally admitting that you're a fraud then?"  
  
"No, but there are some cases that even I can't, pardon the expression, 'crack.' I know of  
someone who can help interpret your dream and solve your problems though. Miss Marina  
Popov,* the most experienced trained hypnotist in the world, will liberate the data imprisoned in  
your mind so that you will finally realize what your fantasies reveal."   
  
Lara shook her head in determination. "I'm not going to any mesmerist. They do all manner of  
strange things to your mind. Playing with other people's brains maybe your idea of fun, but not  
with mine you don't."  
  
"It is the only way, Lara," was Kell's icy reply. "Without her help, you can not possibly discover  
what your subconscious is trying to tell you."   
  
"I wouldn't know about that," she muttered huffily. She wasn't too proud to admit that she didn't  
trust Kell one bit, but she decided it more convenient to hold her tongue. "Besides, she's a  
Russian, isn't she?" she continued pointedly. "How do you know that she wouldn't brainwash  
me with communist ideals?"  
  
"She will only unlock the information inside you, not change it, I promise you."  
  
"As if that means anything," Lara muttered, her bitter contempt for Kell cutting through her  
words like a knife.  
  
"I cannot force you to do it, Lara, but just answer me this: wouldn't you like to stop being afraid  
every time you go to bed?"  
  
Lara's eyes dilated as the full comprehension of Kell's proposal set in. If she went to this  
hypnotist, perhaps she would finally be free from the gripping terror that haunted her mind  
whenever she was living that dreadful vision. She licked her lips and faced Kell with renewed  
determination. "Alright," she assented, "I'll do it."   
  
To Be Continued . . .  
  
* Bourbon Street is a notorious avenue in New Orleans.  
  
*I do not even own Dr. Julia Kell and Marina Popov. They are from the game Clue Chronicles:  
Fatal Illusion by Hasbro, All Rights Reserved.   



	5. Journey to the Center of Her Mind

Chapter Five: Journey to the Center of her Mind  
  
  
From the moment Lara saw Marina, she could tell she was a born hypnotist. Her icy blue  
eyes were so piercing and yet so soothing; her voice, mesmerizing in itself. It was a subtly  
mocking and enticing voice that made all ears hearken to her every utterance. Her apparel said  
much about her as well, from her green, sequined dress that gave her an air of mystery and  
enchantment, to her emerald neckless which scintillated brilliantly in the glow of the lamplight.  
Her tawny locks lay limply on her neck, but danced voluptuously when she nodded. Warm, red  
lips protruded from her face like twin hearts parting and converging as she spoke, and her chunky  
jade heels clattered most becomingly on the floor as she and Dr. Kell greeted Winston and Lara.   
  
"This is Marina Popov," stated Kell bluntly, "Russian expatriate and trained hypnotist.""I'm  
extremely pleased to meet you, Miss Popov," began Winston, his aging eyes glittering with  
excitement. "I've never met a professional hypnotist before; I've only seen those charlatans on  
the telly."  
  
Marina laughed an eerie laugh that made Lara's hair stand on end. Could she possibly entrust this  
woman with her secrets and her mind? "Just call me Marina," she cooed, "and maybe later, if  
you're good, I'll hypnotize you."  
  
"No, thank you," Winston returned politely. "You see, I'm too old, and it would be a waste any  
who. An old geezer like me doesn't have any secret thoughts to discover."   
  
Marina shook her head in disapproval. "I am sorry for you, old man, but if you change your mind  
later, I'd be happy to oblige you. Now," Marina clasped her hands eagerly and smiled coaxingly  
at Lara, who tentatively smiled back, "for my latest patient. Where shall we proceed, Miss  
Croft?"  
  
"I think that the library will suffice," Lara returned cooly. Marina nodded and picked up her  
scale-like train to softly click after Lara and Kell up the stairs to the chosen apartment. Winston  
was about to follow, but hesitated and decided to go fix a pot of Earl Grey for Lara when she had  
finished her ordeal.  
  
  
The fire was crackling nosily in the hearth as the ladies entered. It was February, and the cold,  
dreary rain that England is so famous for had been pelting the mansion mercilessly all day,  
leaving in the air a damp chill that could only be remedied by lighting every hearth in the place.  
Marina ushered Lara to sprawl out on the leopard-skin davenport that she had dragged in there  
from her bedroom that morning. Lara felt a little wary about falling into a trance on the very  
object where her dream began, but the feeling quickly passed as she reminded herself that Lara  
Croft had no fear. Marina and Kell then each pulled up one of the luxurious red leather chairs  
that adorned the room and sat beside her. After inquiring whether Lara was comfortable and  
receiving an affirmative reply, Marina reached into her dress pocket to reveal an old pocket  
watch. It was a marvel of antiquity in itself, with an intricate chain and meticulous design that  
Lara couldn't help admiring. Before she knew it, the golden watch was swinging before her eyes,  
elusive as a sunbeam and twice as bright. Lara crossed her arms in unbelief as the pendant swung  
back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Lara shook her head violently as the gorgeous  
artifact and Marina's soothing voice slowly overcame her senses, desperately fighting the urge to  
let her eyelids drop heavily on her cheeks. Suddenly, she felt more relaxed than she ever had in  
her life. She sighed contentedly as the watch spun dizzily before her eyes. She was losing control  
of herself. Gradually, the hypnosis won over what little was left of her willpower and she fell into  
a deep trance. . .  
  
She was transported to a black, sunless place where she stood alone, grasping for something she  
could not explain in the darkness. A soothing voice rang through the stillness of her mind, asking  
her wordless questions that she answered willingly, not knowing, or caring, what she said.  
Afterwards, she could only recall dimly bits of the conversation. All at once, the floor gave way  
beneath her and she plunged down what seemed like thousands of feet until she landed in the  
snowbank below.   
  
The snow was several feet in depth and so cold that Lara shivered numbly as she regained her  
feet in the slippery slush. She stood perfectly still, letting the falling snow whirl around her  
slender frame like a protective shroud. Across the blinding snowdrifts came the sound of  
footsteps quickly approaching and a man's hoarse breathing. She knelt down in the chilling snow  
and frantically buried the gold object; he must not find it! Suddenly, she heard a man's pained cry  
and whirled around to see a limp body rolling down the hill and lying deathly still at the bottom.  
Her pursuer was vanquished, yet she felt a sudden longing to run to him and see if she could aid  
him in any way. Why dis she feel this way? What was wrong with her? Lara Croft *never* felt  
pity for the men who died trying to attain her goal. In a sudden flurry of confusing thoughts, Lara  
muttered a few delirious words and collapsed into the welcoming blanket of snow.  
  
Then she was flying down an odd tunnel with voices all around, urging her to open her eyes,  
which were already open to begin with. The soothing voice returned and spoke to her urgently yet  
calmly. The tunnel spun around her as she felt her mind blackout.   
  
************************  
  
In a flash, she was transported back to the davenport in the library, perspiring heavily and  
gasping for breath. She tried to open her eyes, but the light in the room was to painful to bear.  
Slowly, her head cleared and she gingerly sat up and unclosed her rich chocolate eyes once more.  
  
"Welcome back," said Popov dryly. "Would you like to hear what you said just now?" Lara was  
still so weak from the experience that she could do nothing but nod her assent. "Well, comrade,  
you said all manner of strange things while you were in my power," Lara gulped at the phrase,  
"especially about a certain Cossack by the name of Marco Bartoli. Does that name ring a bell?"  
  
"It certainly does," muttered Lara as her sapped strength quickly returned to her. "He's a  
Venetian, and the leader of the Fiama Nera cult. Jean-Yves warned me about him when I told  
him he was my competitor for the Dagger, and now I vaguely recall seeing his photograph in the  
newspaper . . ." In a flash, the picture of the mysterious Italian man came to her mind, and she  
shuddered at the remembrance. Lara's poise returned to her an instant later when she continued,  
"I don't see what he has to do with my dream, though."  
  
"I was as surprised as you," remarked Kell, raising her eyebrows, "but evidently he has a great  
deal to do with your paranoia. You seem to be in apprehension of meeting this man on your  
journeys. What will occur when and if this happens, I cannot professionally say; the dream may  
flashback to you upon acquainting this man or you may experience a nervous breakdown. Only  
time will tell how this event will end. This cult leader is no doubt a dangerous man who wants  
the Dagger as much, if not more than you do. The Fiama Nera cult is devoted to the recovery of  
the Dagger and will stop at nothing, and I mean nothing, to achieve their end. Their purposes are  
purely religious, but their methods are sanguinary, so I'd advise you to be very careful."  
  
Lara found all this information rather difficult to digest. It wasn't that she had never faced death  
before, not in the least. She had come fairly eye to eye with it many times before this, and usually  
the surge of adrenaline that accompanied the adversity was invigorating, but this dream business  
was frightening her more than any near-death encounter ever had. And after hearing both Jean,  
Kell, and Popov's evaluations and advice, this Bartoli fellow terrified her more than she would  
admit to anyone, even herself. He was beyond her comprehension, this crazed cultist with an  
unsatiable lust for blood, and though she refused to believe that he was stronger than she, she felt  
that Kell was right about at least one thing: he was unstoppable, just like herself. Had she finally  
met her match? And what if she *did* have a nervous breakdown? She could be abducted, or  
worse yet, killed by him. Wait a minute, she thought, I haven't even met the blackheart yet. I  
think that meeting him is the only way to see if my fear is justified. Until then, all I can do is hope  
and pray. With a heartrending sigh, she turned to her guests and said, "Would you both mind  
staying with me here in the mansion until I work this thing out?"  
  
"Not at all!" replied the Russian jovially. "I only wish I could do more to alleviate the discomfort  
of your predicament."  
  
"And I could not bear to miss a moment of study on you," gushed Kell. "You exhibit some  
unique pathology, and make a classic psychiatric patient, therefore, you can not afford to be  
missed, even for several hours' time."  
  
Lara rolled her eyes at Kell's enthusiasm. She suspected that the doctor was only accompanying  
her for the additional money she hoped it would bring, nevertheless, she felt more secure  
knowing that she would not have to face the long nights ahead alone.  



	6. Preparations for Departure

Chapter Five: Preparations for Departure   
  
"Therefore you are willing to sacrifice everything, even your own life, for our Great  
Cause . . ."  
  
"We are!" chorused several hundred men, their beady black eyes glistening in the darkness of the  
abandoned warehouse in Milan.  
  
". . .and pledge your undying loyalty and honor to the sins and fortunes of Marco Bartoli?  
  
"We do!" Their voices were almost trance-like now, as if they no longer had control over what  
they said or did.  
  
A great hush fell over the crowd as Rudolph Colodi surveyed the men. They were a sorry lot as  
far as brains were concerned, but their brawn more than made up for it. Their triceps bulged  
beneath their swarthy skin and their chest muscles rippled in strength. This was a crowd to be  
proud of. Marco would surely be pleased. He paused for a moment before declaring:  
  
"You are now members of the Fiama Nera. Report to our headquarters at Via Caravelli in the  
morning."  
  
The men saluted their conductor and solemnly filed out of the warehouse. Rudolph hastily wiped  
the sweat from his brow and turned on the goon to his left. "Lorenzo, communicate the results of  
our rally to Marco."  
  
"OK, Rudy." The thug kowtowed to him and swiftly exited the room.  
  
Rudolph sighed as he reflected on the events of the day. Early this morning, his boss, Marco  
Bartoli had called with a demand for more able-bodied men to guard the wreck of the Maria  
Doria- and the seraph. The seraph had been his father's life work; he had even died for it. Gianni  
Bartoli had been so close . . . he had even possessed the precious artifact. But then, disaster  
struck and imbecile monks had torpedoed his ship, killing the entire crew and sending the ship  
plummeting to the bottom of the ocean. Fortunately, the wreckage had imbedded itself in an air  
pocket, rescuing the seraph from rust and decay and providing the path for his son to salvage it.   
  
Unfortunately, the same monks who had terminated his father's mission were not about to let his  
son continue with impunity. They thwarted his way at every turn and made it almost impossible  
for Marco to achieve his goal. He was forced to send valuable troops that should have been used  
for more useful purposes to guard the shipwreck day and night, lest any monks caused harm to  
befall her. In fact, he had even breathed life back into the Fiama Nera, the so-called "cult" of the  
seraph, the Talion, and the Dagger, to recruit henchmen to patrol the ship. Yes, he was definitely  
after the dagger too, but unlike Lara, he already knew that two other items must be obtained  
before one can gain access to it.  
  
Although Marco had reinvented his father's cult primarily for material reasons, he still did  
believe in the Dagger's powers; as soon as he had acquired it, he would drive it into his heart as  
the ancient legend demanded and gain the powers of the Dragon. The only difference between  
him and his father's beliefs was that Gianni had also attested to the mystical powers of other  
objects such as the Holy Grail and the Hindu statue of Buddha. Marco thought these myths were  
hogwash. Why he attached to the account of the Dagger and none of the others is not known, but  
whatever the reason, Marco held on to his faith in the Dagger's powers with the same tenacity  
that caused his trained Dobermans to grip their prey. He would never relent, not even if he was  
killed for his beliefs . . .  
  
********************************  
  
Meanwhile, in the cramped office just outside the warehouse, Marco was rustling through his  
papers with intensity, cursing softly under his breath. He had to find that map of the Barkhang  
Monastery before he drove to the Opera House in Venice, the temporary headquarters of the  
Fiama Nera. He paused when he heard the faltering tread of his stupidest goon, Lorenzo, as he  
hesitantly entered the dark chambre. "Well," he began as calmly as his agitated state would  
allow, "What is it?"  
  
"We have load more recruits now for protection of the Seraph," hissed the flunky in his broken  
English. "You will be pleased now, I think?"  
  
"Very pleased," Marco muttered dryly. "Now if only I could find that map."  
  
Lorenzo's eyes widened in an understanding almost to large for his pea-sized brain to contain. He  
knew that his boss needed that map before he could go to Venice, and the sooner he went to  
Venice, the sooner Lorenzo would get his paycheck of several hundred lire.* "A chart that big  
cannot simply disappear," said Lorenzo stupidly, hoping he was being helpful and not just  
annoying. "I know it was here somewhere."  
  
"Lorenzo, you amaze me sometimes at how little you know," Marco snarled impatiently. He  
tossed a stack of papers on the floor with disgust and stomped toward Lorenzo. He grabbed his  
accomplice by the shirt collar and lifted him off his feet. "Have you ever thought that it could've  
been pinched?" He shook the man with all he was worth.  
  
"N-n-n-no, I mean y-y-y-yes, Marco," Lorenzo stuttered, gasping for breath. "But perhaps you are  
wrong. Maybe it has just been mislaid."   
  
Marco relaxed his grip. "Perhaps . . . I should mislay you!" He dropped his comrade to the floor.  
Then, he recommenced his quest for the map.  
  
Lorenzo rubbed his chafed neck in pain and warily eyed his employer. Sometimes he wondered if  
the meager pay he received at the end of each week was worth being bullied around.  
  
Marco produced a rusty key from the pocket of his black jacket and hastily thrust it into a lock on  
one of his desk drawers. He turned it with a loud creaking noise and slid the bureau open.  
Lorenzo had only to note fierce gleam in his eyes to know he had found what he was looking for.  
"Aha!" he cried triumphantly as he carefully removed the priceless document.  
  
Lorenzo smiled weakly, glad that his employer would no longer have a reason for taking out his  
anger at him.  
  
"Now!" exclaimed Marco, the excitement he was experiencing written plainly on his swarthy  
face. "Lorenzo," he continued, turning to the fawning thug, "tell Rudolph I am ready for  
departure."  
  
"Si, si, Marco!" answered the crazed Italian, the thought of those lovely lire in his pocket by the  
end of the day motivating him to triple his usually lethargic pace. Marco shook his head as the  
impudent moron dashed out of the room. His line of work certainly had its disadvantages.   
  
Just then, another goon plunged into the office. "Bad news, boss," sputtered the thug, "Claudio  
Botticelli is not responding to any of our e-mail messages. Someone must have approached him  
and he was forced to make use of the poison."  
  
Marco cursed loudly in Italian and boxed the ears off the unfortunate harbinger. "I am being  
trailed!" he yelled. "This is not to be tolerated." He paused a few minutes to regain his  
composure before continuing. "Is there any clue as to who this intruder might be?"  
  
The goon shook his head and cowered as he was delivered a final blow. Then, he most  
unceremoniously bowed and slunk out of the room. Marco glanced around the room in  
desperation, seeking a new vent for his consuming wrath, but none was to be found. Then, just as  
quickly as he had become enraged, the giant man relaxed again. "He must have left some clew to  
his identity," he reasoned as he rested his heavy frame on a nearby chair. Marco swivelled in his  
seat and turned on his laptop computer. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he connected to the  
internet. After logging on, he hacked into Claudio's computer and tried to find some evidence of  
the unfortunate person whose arrival had necessitated his partner's demise. All he found was that  
the person had taken awhile to figure out the password, which was inevitable given his severely  
limited notoriety, and that he had searched the internet for Marco. Marco cussed softly as he  
realized that this intruder surely knew of his whereabouts in Venice by now. It would only be a  
short while before he appeared on the scene to make more trouble for the Fiama Nera.   
  
Marco was about to give up and shut down the computer when he saw the incorrect password  
"Tomb Raider." He gave a cry of delight! He had searched all over the world wide web, and only  
one person he knew of had that password on their computer, that little British excuse for an  
archaeologist, Lara Croft! She must have punched in that incorrect phrase by force of habit and  
then remembered this was not her own computer and cracked his codes! Marco's fist was  
clenched in confidence as he looked up all the data on her that he needed. After all, two could  
play at this game. He took down her exact street address and printed the explicit directions on  
how to get there. Marco grimaced in evil delight. That little Brit was trapped now! All he had to  
do was break into her ritzy house at night and give her the reward she deserved for her meddling,  
a slow, excruciating death. He shut down the computer in a complete euphoric delight and  
carefully tucked the needed information he needed into his deep coat pocket. In a few short  
hours, he would teach -her- to mess with Marco Bartoli!   
  
  
* Lire (singular lira) is the chief Italian currency. 


	7. The Madness Begins

Chapter Six: The Madness Begins  
  
Lara Croft awoke to the sight of the mid-morning sun slanting through her picture  
window and a feeling of dread. She had recently done something so foolish that it might be the  
cause of an early grave. Now what was that moronic thing she had done? In a flash, the laptop  
computer in the cave under the Great Wall came to her mind. She had typed her own computer  
password by mistake! How could she have been so stupid! She bolted out of bed, took a quick  
morning shower, hastily draped her cerulean robe across her thin frame, and ran across the hall to  
her guest room where Kell and Popov were staying. "Marina! Julia!" she called as she skidded to  
a halt just inside the doorway. "We are in terrible danger! I just remembered an awful mistake I  
made when I was in China. I typed my password into Claudio Botticelli's computer by mistake  
before decoding the real one. By now, they probably have figured out who it belongs to, know  
my street address, and are plotting to kill me!"  
  
"Calm down, Fraulein," began Kell in her annoying German accent. "I thought that you were  
used to these situations and capable of handling them without assistance. I must have  
misdiagnosed your neurosis when I analyzed-"  
  
"Shut up, Kell, just shut up!" Lara was nearly hyperventilating by now. "We've got to get out of  
here right now, we've-"  
  
"Miss Croft?" asked a gravely voice. Winston padded into the room as noiselessly as a cat and  
held out his tray of breakfast tea to his mistress. "I have been invited to my sister's house this  
day. Would it be too much to beg a sabbatical?" His trusting eyes looked to Lara for guidance.  
  
"Sure, whatever, Winston," Lara stated in agitation as she grabbed the teapot and began to pour  
herself a cup. "Just be back by tomorrow morning . . . Ouch!" Lara had spilled some of the hot  
liquid on her hand in her haste. "Sorry about that, ladies, I'm not usually this clumsy." Lara  
tittered nervously, her teacup shaking in her hand. "Oh, what's the matter with me today?" she  
thought aloud. Suddenly, she turned on the Russian and cried, "You must have screwed up my  
mind yesterday when you mesmerized me, you quack! I should sue you for every penny you  
own!"  
  
Popov merely raised one of her stencil-thin eyebrows and replied quite sedately, "That's absurd! I  
did nothing of the sort. This is all in your head, Lara dear; I have nothing to do with it."  
  
"Your mind seems to be blowing this recurring fantasia way out of proportion," remarked Kell  
seriously. "I suggest you take one of these" she handed Lara one of the red pills from the other  
day "and go lie down for a while."  
  
Lara was about to refuse the shrink's advice when something inside her told her that maybe rest  
was the best thing to her troubled mind. She took the sedative from Kell and swallowed it with  
the rest of her tea. Then, the hypnotist and psychiatrist escorted her back to her bedchamber  
which she inhabited, unconscious, the rest of the day.  
  
When Lara awoke for the second time that day, her room was pitch black. She started for a  
moment but then realized the cause of her long slumber must have been the soporific she had  
ingested earlier. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see Marina and Kell sitting at the left  
side of her bed on chairs they had dragged in from the library. "You weren't watching me sleep  
all day, were you?" asked Lara in horror.   
  
"Ja, of course we were," quipped Kell softly. "We wanted to be here in case you said something  
important in your sleep."  
  
"Have you eaten anything?" persisted Lara. Even though she didn't particularly enjoy their  
company, her aristocratic pride caused her to be embarrassed of any discomfort her guests  
experienced while in her house.  
  
"Your manservant fixed us some provisions before he left," said Popov with a smile. "Do not be  
concerned on our account, Miss Croft, our time in your house is solely meant for your service."  
  
Lara might have imagined it, but she thought Kell looked dissatisfied with the last statement. She  
smirked to recall the German's mercenary philosophy. Her mirth was cut short by an insistent  
scratching noise coming from downstairs. Lara froze in fear. All of a sudden, she felt very  
vulnerable, weaker than she had ever felt before. She slumped in her bed, trying to block the  
sound from her mind. But the rattling began again! Someone was definitely trying to break in.  
Lara clutched the armrest of Kell's chair for support, her lips pursed into a thin white line. She  
was shaking all over. Why am I so scared? she thought. Why this sense of foreboding? I'm  
stronger than whatever or whoever is at the door. Her head swam as she tried to find the answer.  
Suddenly she felt cold and numb all over. The Dream! Of course! It was coming true! Lara tried  
to gain control of herself but she couldn't help shrieking.  
  
"Quiet!" hushed Kell. "They'll hear us. Besides, you said there was nothing to worry about.  
You've taken care of loads of these situations before, right?"  
  
Lara tried to calm her quivering body. Her voice wavered slightly as she replied with all the  
courage she could muster, "Right!"  
  
Whether Kell sensed her uneasiness, Lara never knew; she never cared to know. Everything of  
importance was rushed out of her mind with the thump of every heartbeat. She wondered if she  
was losing her sanity. She didn't care. All she desired was to be safely out of the reach of the  
dreaded fate that awaited her downstairs.  
  
The dream returned to her like a bolt of lightning. Nothing was safe at this moment. The  
fulfilment of her dream was inevitable, and destiny had chosen tonight for that purpose. "Oh,  
God, please don't let me die tonight," Lara prayed, although the though of fire and brimstone was  
almost welcome after the terrors she had suffered over the last few days.  
  
The doorknob rustily turned and admitted the strangers. Suddenly, the smooth hypnotic voice of  
Popov was heard in the deepening silence: "The time has come. Take the watch," she said,  
handing the relic to Lara. "It may help you in your time of distress."  
  
Lara clutched the gold pocket-watch to her breast, wondering how she could use it for her  
protection. So Popov had the same feeling about the dream coming true, and when two people  
have the same premonition, it soon becomes fact. She heard the sound of the approaching  
footsteps and quaked in fear, beads of sweat gathering on her already damp forehead. They were  
coming, but more importantly, he was coming. Marco Bartoli: the man she had been warned so  
much about, the leader of the hateful cult that wanted the prize she hoped to obtain, and she was  
terrified. In the darkness, Lara heard the indistinct sound of Marina producing a flask of  
something, probably some sort of alcohol, from her valise and consuming a large dose. In a fit of  
momentary insanity, Lara grabbed the bottle and gulped down the rest. The minute she  
swallowed, she wished she hadn't. It was vodka, of all alcohol the most mocking and insensitive  
of pain, the most elusive and fiery, the silent assassin that rips through your throat and wrenches  
your guts inside-out. Her throat burned as if with strep, her stomach writhed, and the room began  
to spin. Lara threw off her bedcovers and fled from the room, heedless of the four thugs circling  
the house. She tucked the watch into her brassiere as she ran, the alcohol surging through her  
veins and giving her sudden strength. She reached the music room and collapsed on the floor.  
  
She didn't know how long she lay there, letting the vodka roll over her like a surging flood. All  
she knew was when she came to herself, she was very drunk. The room spun about her like a  
whirling dervish and she felt very lightheaded. Finally, she uttered a sardonic chuckle and  
swayed to her feet.  
  
"You bloody coward!" she muttered to her self as she wiped the remains of the vodka from her  
lips with her hand. "How could you be so scared over some friendly visitors coming to call on  
you!" She recklessly spun around and sent her golden harp crashing to the floor.   
  
At this, she completely lost all self-control and burst into a maniacal fit of laughter. She was  
rolling on the floor chortling when a man entered. "Marco!" he hissed. "In here!" Suddenly, the  
doorframe was overshadowed by a bulky form. A dark-haired man of about thirty-five years  
entered the room. His very presence was enough to give you the jitters, for he was at least six-  
foot-tall and brawny as a grizzly bear. Even though it was almost pitch-black in the house, he was  
wearing dark shades. Lara stopped laughing long enough to get a good look at him. Then, she  
stood up and faced the giant man with an irritating smirk stretched across her face.  
  
The man was not amused; in fact he was furious. "Stop that infernal simpering at once!" he  
barked. He cursed in a foreign tongue and was about to strike the brazen girl before him when he  
was stopped by the sound of a woman entering the room. "Calm yourself, Herr Bartoli," she  
soothed complacently. "Surely my intoxicated client is not worth this violent show of temper."   
  
Lara recognized the sneering voice of her personal councilor. "Don't just stand there, Kell!" she  
cried in exasperation. "Do something! Hit him over the head! Ask him about his abnormal  
neurotic compulsions."  
  
Kell blinked rather stupidly at Lara before replying. "Sorry, I was not trained for these situations.  
I am afraid you will have to rely on purely your own resources, though I will stay to witness this  
melodrama and its effects on your mental condition."  
  
Marco, quite unamused at the little dialogue being exchanged by the two females muttered  
something vile under his breath and withdrew from the room with his accomplice for the  
moment.   
  
Julia smiled irreverently at Lara. "Pardon my impudence, but it appears that the cards are, as they  
say, against you today."  
  
If the alcohol had not gripped so firm a hold on her senses, Lara would have killed her right then  
and there. "I knew there was something amiss in that uncanny way you knew so much about  
Bartoli. Now I know your services to me were merely administered for their entertainment value.  
Well, don't you feel any shame for your actions?"  
  
"None at all," said Kell in a saccharine voice, hiding her true feelings for her patient under a  
translucent veneer of good manners. "This game that Herr Bartoli is playing with you right now  
fascinates me. The great man himself is a wonderful diversion for a seasoned professional like  
myself. His mind is a case that even I would not venture to solve. Minds capable of such  
atrocities as his should be subjects merely of study and amusement and not necessarily  
reformation. Besides, I have your assurance that you can stand up to anything, even in the face of  
death or extreme pain. At least you hinted at such when you were under Popov's powers. You  
yourself told me that Lara Croft was invincible, Lara Croft was incapable of error. I don't know  
about you, but to me it looks like Lara Croft has just willingly marched into her own funeral. But  
what do I know? I am not the expert archaeologist and explorer, the Tomb Raider, Miss Croft. I  
assume that's your department, Fraulein."  
  
Lara tried to shake her alcohol-induced drowsiness. "Did you really go through all this trouble to  
watch my demise? I hardly think that a worthy cause even given that I am the most fearless  
creature alive."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, my dear," replied Kell icily. "I saw the fear in your eyes when you heard  
Bartoli's men beating down your door. I know your secret, the secret that makes you araid to  
sleep at night and terrified to go out in the morning. It is this dream, and a prophetic one, too. It  
will all happen as planned, trust me, I know." And with that, the German left the room, slamming  
the door behind her.   
  
Lara about to retaliate, but instead kept her cool. She was far too drunk to pick a losing fight with  
the bold and brassy- not to mention strong- Dr. Julia Kell, although she sensed that her foe  
probably wouldn't put up much of a fight if she was confronted. She was obviously no different  
than the rest of her breed, she could stand up under pressing circumstances to prove something  
about herself, just as her barbarian ancestors had during their trials by ordeal, but otherwise, she  
was a dreadful coward who would flee from any sign of imminent danger if withstanding it  
would not present any immediate benefit to her person. As such, she was acting tonight, laying  
low and watching the drama unfold from the wings, never daring to set foot on stage unless she  
saw a fit opportunity to steal the show from her adversary and prove she was deserving of her  
country's respect. Lara knew all too well from her experiences with Werner Von Croy that Kell's  
type would gladly let Lara do the dirty work and then collect the prize, this time merely being the  
amusing analysis of a tortured mind being overcome by past fears and present dangers instead of  
the Iris at Angkor Wat. Well, if that was the way Kell was going to play, it was fine with her.  
Later, when Kell came pleading for help, she would just let her suffer at the hands of the enemy,  
knowing that the psychologist had reaped her just reward for taking advantage of Lara's faults.  
Or maybe, if she had time, she would drag the impudent thrill-seeker to safety. Lara sighed  
audibly. Who was she trying to kid? She knew she had a soft spot in her heart for those weaker  
then herself or in some imminent peril whose anguish she did not share. They were always at a  
keen disadvantage that needed her quick wit and strength to equalize. After all, Lara believed  
everybody should have a fighting chance at survival as she had, even if they were two-timing  
losers like Von Croy and Kell. When it came to the mighty who could defend themselves as well  
as her, forget it. They were definitely on their own as far as she was concerned.  
  
With a surge of newfound confidence, Lara ran across the hall into her bedroom closet and pulled  
out her trusty shotgun which was loaded with two shells. She knew it would only bw a matter of  
moments before Bartoli became impatient and sent one of his thugs upstairs to finish her off. She  
grasped both ends of it and waited till the sound of footsteps came so close that she could hear  
the man's breathing. The thug shot her a toothy grin and said something in Italian; Lara shot  
back- with her shotgun. The thug slumped to the floor with a sickening groan. Lara winced as the  
crimson pool flooded around her ankles. She really hated the sight of a man freshly killed, it gave  
her a creepy feeling all over her skin as if she thought she would be the next to go, but she saw it  
so often, she had become hardened and at the moment, cared only that the blood was soiling the  
carpet. Hastily, she dropped the gun, tore the sleeve off her robe, and wrapped it around the  
stricken head. She used the other sleeve to sop up the blood that had already spilled onto the  
floor. Then she stood back to admire her work. Unfortunately, someone else was admiring it also.   
  
"Well done, Miss Croft," said a vaguely familiar voice. "You have managed to dispose of one of  
my men before I eliminate you." Lara whirled around to see Marco unsheathing a glinting silver  
knife.   
  
"You can't frighten me," she retorted in the bravest sounding voice she could muster, "I know  
who you are and why you came here tonight." Marco frowned grimly at her and grabbed her right  
arm. "You are Marco Bartoli, son of the magician Gianni Bartoli and leader of the Fiama Nera,"  
she continued almost fiercely.   
  
"I know who you are as well, Miss Croft," replied Marco in his deep, gravelly voice, "and I only  
had one purpose in coming here tonight- to have you terminated."  
  
"That's more than obvious," said Lara as she eyed the steel blade nervously.  
  
"Don't get snippy with me, missy! I very well hold your life in my hands. My men could break  
every bone in your body with several swift maneuvers."  
  
"I assume you're referring to the cultists, one of which is lying on the floor in front of me, stone  
dead. I hardly think they'll pose much of a problem for my shotgun . . ." Lara gasped,  
remembering that she had left her gun on the floor beside the corpse of the thug. "Oh, crud," Lara  
gasped as he smiled evilly at her and brought the blade close to her, but she made no struggle as  
he ran the business end of his dagger along her forearm. In fact, she stared mutely at the gash as  
the blood began to flow.  
  
"I am sorry to report that my senses are completely dead at present!" she stated calmly as she  
watched the red drops form and run down her arm. "I had a little bit too much to drink tonight,  
and I'm very, very tired." Lara stifled a yawn and silently congratulated herself at thinking up an  
excuse for him not to kill her. True, her senses weren't completely numbed, for the mark on her  
arm was throbbing and pinching the tinniest bit, but she was a such a good actress that Marco  
would never know if she didn't let on.  
  
Marco's countenanced hardened noticeably as he grabbed her from behind and placed his large  
arm around her neck while holding the dagger threateningly before her face. Lara stood silently  
as though this was the usual way for her to spend her evenings. She really was a good actress, she  
mused to herself while fighting desperately against the sleep that the alcohol was trying to  
induce. She thought she saw Kell out of the corner of her eye, but her vision was becoming so  
blurred, she couldn't tell. "You might as well give it up," she chided drowsily. "It's no use killing  
me when my senses are dead to affliction, unless you want me to leave this world in an entirely  
painless way."  
  
At this, Marco relaxed his grip, for he realized that she was absolutely right. Grumbling, he tried  
to think of a way to avenge himself. Suddenly, his eyes widened, he gripped her shoulders, and  
whispered hoarsely, "You must come with me; you are the Key."  
  
It worked like a charm. As soon as he breathed the haunting phrases from her dream, she was  
putty in his hand- literally. The room spun as Lara felt her legs collapse from beneath her.  
Everything grew hazy and dim -like a dream! Lara gave out one feeble screech before her mind  
was enshrouded in darkness. 


	8. The Moment of Truth

Chapter Seven: The Moment of Truth  
  
"You must come with me! You are the Key!" The words faded hauntingly in and out of  
her mind like the clear toll of a carillon.   
  
Lara struggled in vain to rouse herself, but her head felt like a ton of bricks. Sighing deeply, she  
dozed off again.  
  
The insistent droning of the helicopter finally woke her. She groggily opened her eyes only to  
find that she couldn't see a blasted thing. When she tried to stretch, she realized she had been  
bound and gagged. She garbled a few helpless cries for aide before finally resigning herself to the  
fact she had been abducted.  
  
She tried to sort out the incidents of her last conscious moments. What had occurred before her  
fateful swoon? All she could recall was a strange man whispering some dreaded words and her  
mind's plunge into darkness. Suddenly, her cheeks burned with shame. She had never fainted  
from fear in her life before last night. Of course, she had been knocked unconscious many times  
before on her numerous quests, but never had she fainted because of what someone said or did.  
She had seen far too many graphic scenes in her life to be affected by the sight of blood or a mere  
curse word, so what had caused her sudden fragility? Before she had time to think, she realized  
that the helicopter was landing. She braced herself for the impact and waited until the vehicle had  
become to a complete stop before resuming her thoughts. Unfortunately, she was prevented from  
getting very far by being torn from the burlap sack that had been her prison. She grunted and  
kicked and trashed, but all to no avail. The thug pulled out a tranquilizer gun and shot her with it.  
Blackness enveloped her once more.  
  
*******************  
  
"Get up!" growled a thickly accented voice.   
  
Lara struggled to open her leaden eyelids but all in vain. She moaned and turned over on the  
floor.  
  
"I thought I told you to move!" barked the man as he delivered a blow that sent her rolling across  
the floor.  
  
Lara's eyes finally opened as she felt her blood pressure rise. No one touched Lara Croft that way  
and got away with it. Reaching for her pistols, she suddenly realized that she was bound tightly  
with a large wooden dowel holding her muscular arms behind her back. She looked about her.  
Everything was covered by a dull grey film; evidently the effects of the sedative had not quite  
worn off. She shook her head as well as she could under the circumstances, trying to clear her  
vision, and delighted to realized that she had not been gagged. "What do you want?" she asked  
sharply as she tried to focus on the burly form beside her.  
  
"Rather a poor question to ask," replied the man as he lustfully surveyed her figure.   
  
Lara silently cursed the gods for giving her such a large bosom. "I mean who sent you and why?"  
  
The man flashed what seemed to be a toothless grin, but Lara couldn't be sure through her hazy  
eyesight. "Marco sent me to bring you to him so he can kill you."  
  
"How kind of him to remember me," she returned dryly. "Well, I suppose we should get this  
done with."  
  
The thug nodded and harshly dragged the tomb raider to her feet. "This way," he directed as he  
goaded her down the long hallway of what appeared to be a warehouse.  
  
"May I ask whose company I'm enjoying and where?" Lara inquired coyly.  
  
"Rudolph Colodi, and you are in the Apennines," he quipped. "That's an Italian mountain range,"  
he added for the fun of it.  
  
"Really? How droll! I never knew that."  
  
Evidently, Rudolph could sense Lara's sarcasm, for he tugged her ropes even tighter around her  
and pushed her more quickly down the hall. Lara squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable.  
Unfortunately, she also had disclosed her brassiere and the golden object hidden inside.  
  
"What is this?" asked Rudolph as he tried to pluck the object out of its safe hiding place. That  
was enough to make Lara's vision perfectly clear in an instant. She snapped the stick in two swift  
maneuvers and freed herself from the rest of her bonds. She then proceeded to give Rudolph a  
great kick in the pants.  
  
Rudolph yelled in pain and began to curse at her.   
  
"Take that, big boy," she spat in disdain as she ran down the hall and plunged into an office.  
Unfortunately, she also plunged into the waiting arms of Senor Bartoli.   
  
"Nice to see you again, Senorita Croft," he said in a low voice.   
  
Lara felt all the blood drain out of her exotic-looking face as Marco grabbed her neck from  
behind. For the first time in her life, she was unable to devise a witty reply as fear consumed her  
normally calm brain. "How are you going to kill me?" she asked in a weak voice hardly  
recognizable as her own, even to herself.   
  
"That depends on how much trouble you give me," answered Bartoli as he cast her to the floor on  
the opposite side of the room, nearly causing our heroine to lose consciousness. Her near swoon  
was not caused by the mere force of the blow but by the complete terror in which she viewed her  
tormentor, for the lead figure in her dreaded nightmare was standing before her, holding her  
precious life in his large hands. And what was worse, it had been handed over to him by the  
dreamer herself, who no longer seemed able to control her actions.  
  
Just then, Rudolph barged into the room and pointed an accusing finger at Lara. "Boss, she has  
something concealed in her bosom, and she will not let me retrieve it."  
  
Marco's eyes gleamed red with rage. "Give it to me now, woman, or you will die a thousand  
deaths."  
  
Lara, who had fallen into an almost trance-like stupor was about to comply when the sight of the  
twisted face of Rudolph made her snap back to reality. Marco may have had a hypnotic effect on  
her, but the perverse thug who wanted nothing better than to use her for his own lustful desires  
was not to be tolerated. "I don't think so," she stated firmly as she dodged a sudden attack from  
Marco. She dashed between Rudolph's legs, causing the thug to tumble to the floor, and headed  
for the fire exit.  
  
The sirens blared loudly as Lara vaulted over the fire escape stairway and landed with a soft thud  
in the snowbank below. Scrambling to her feet, she glanced behind her to note that Marco was on  
her trail. Cursing softly, she ran through the snow up a hill, the icy slush stinging her bare legs as  
she hurried along. Marco was right behind her. She could hear his large boots crunching behind  
her in the snow, apparently gaining on her! She gasped for breath as she reached the crest of the  
hill, clutching the watch to her chest as she began her rushed descent on the other side. She didn't  
know why, but something told her that she mustn't lose the precious artifact whatever the cost.  
  
She was nearly at the bottom when she heard a loud grunt followed by the sound of something  
heavy tumbling down the hill. Her heart jumped to her throat and she leaped ahead several yards  
before realizing that the footsteps had stopped. Still jogging lightly, Lara glanced over her  
shoulder. What she saw almost caused her to fall over dead. An inert form had come to rest at the  
foot of the hill. Another look confirmed her darkest fears: It was Marco! Lara shook her head in  
disbelief, recalling the events of her hypnotic trance. But that was just a silly dream; she couldn't  
go back to help him just because she had in a ridiculous nightmare she had. Wait a minute, she  
thought, the other events of the dream came true, why not this one? Oh, you're just talking  
nonsense, she assured herself. She was about to continue her escape when an indescribable force  
seemed to pull her head around and look at her kidnapper a third time. He was still lying  
prostrate on the ground with the harsh wind whipping around his lifeless form, and strangest of  
all, he was still alone. None of his henchmen had come out to see what was wrong. Then, she  
recalled that the dale they had just traversed would conceal any sight of the two from the prying  
eyes of anyone at the warehouse. So nobody knew where he was! What if he had been badly  
injured? He might die if she didn't do something about it!   
  
Lara slowly yet resolutely turned around and headed back to her enemy's side. As she knelt down  
beside him in the snow, a strange peace seemed to descend upon her. Suddenly, she wished the  
man no more ill than she would wish herself. "I must be going half-mad!" cried Lara as she  
struggled to turn the large man over and check his pulse. It was beating loudly in the Italian's  
chest. He was alive! Lara fought the childish urge to squeal for joy at her discovery. What was  
wrong with her? She never had acted this way before! Sure, she had tried to help those at a  
disadvantage to a fair fight, but this was different. For a fleeting moment, she felt almost attached  
to her adversary. But the moment quickly passed, for Bartoli began to stir. His large black eyes  
flashed open and peered into her chocolate brown ones. "What are you still doing here?" asked  
the cultist falteringly as though his whole perception of the human race was crumbling before his  
eyes.  
  
"I couldn't let you die; not when you hadn't done me any real harm," Lara explained. "No one  
could see you down here; it might have been hours before somebody-"  
  
"But why?" asked the Venetian impatiently as he hoisted himself up on his elbows. "You do not  
seem a fool, though leaving your password in Claudio's computer wasn't exactly a stroke of  
genius."  
  
At this point, Lara would usually say something smart back, but today, the way she was behaving  
was anything but normal. "I-I had to," stammered Lara in confusion. "I don't know why, but I  
couldn't leave you here; not when I could save you."  
  
"You are an odd one, donna mia,*" said Marco gruffly as he regained his feet. "I know I should  
be grateful, but my religion merely allows me to give you this final chance to get out." He made a  
sweeping gesture across the snow. "Run away before my strength returns and I decide to kill you  
after all."  
  
Lara suspected that Marco probably wouldn't try to kill her ever again unless absolutely  
necessary to his occult beliefs. She figured that of the concern she had shown him had touched  
him deeply and he would never for get it, but she decided not to take any chances. As she walked  
away from him toward the mountains, she wondered if anyone had ever cared for him in his life.  
It was awfully lonely not to have anyone who cared whether you live or die; Lara knew from  
experience. Sometimes she wished there was someone to come home to, someone who would  
always be there no matter what. At least I have Winston, she mused as she gave Marco a farewell  
glance before he turned into a speck that melted into the dusky horizon.   
  
***********  
  
After about an hour of wandering about aimlessly, Lara finally admitted to herself that she  
was lost. She sat down on a stump in despair, wondering how she would ever get home. Just  
then, her eye caught a glimmer of light issuing from her chest. She reached in and pulled out the  
pocket-watch. "I wonder what Popov meant when she said it could help me in my time of  
distress," she mused as she flicked the cover open. To her shock, the bold letters of the compass  
stared back at her instead of the face of a clock. "So it isn't a real watch," she mused. "It's a  
compass!" she jumped to her feet and pointed herself due north. If the thug had told her the truth  
about her location, she figured, she would eventually exit the mountains and enter Austria. "How  
did Popov know I would need this?" she asked in bewilderment. "Oh, well, that's not important.  
All that matters is that I'm going home." And Lara marched into the twilight toward the faithful  
butler and hot bath that were waiting for her. 


	9. Epilogue

  
Epilogue  
  
Lara Croft slid into the steaming water and sighed deeply. Several weeks had passed since  
her ordeal in the mountains, and she had just returned from the Great Wall, where she had  
claimed the Dagger of Xian, - and witnessed her adversary's gruesome suicide and  
transformation into the dragon that she had just defeated. She couldn't believe that just a few  
days ago, her enemy had been as alive as she, but now he was dead and buried somewhere in that  
massive structure in China. She remembered her internal horror as she watched Bartoli plunge  
the Dagger deep into his heart; she could still see the blood which issued from his chest cavity as  
he collapsed into the waiting arms of his thugs. But that is all over now, she reminded herself.  
The bubbles in the tub immersed her whole body except her thin shoulders and neck that led to  
her proud and graceful head. She closed her eyes and tried to forget the unfortunate events of the  
past few days, but they kept coming back to haunt her . . .  
  
When Lara returned home after the tumultuous affair in Italy, She found her faithful butler  
waiting of course, but also a note from Julia Kell which read:  
  
Fraulein Croft:  
After careful analyzation of your neurological situation , I have come to the conclusion  
that you will no longer be in need of my services should you survive this brush with Herr Bartoli,  
and will migrate back to my motherland at the nearest possible convenience. I am of the belief  
that your fantasias will work themselves out of their own accord by the time, if any, that you  
return home. I will send the total bill of my services to your estate over the course of the next  
week or two. I hope you accept my humble apologies of not being of further service to you and  
will report your adventure to me regardless of your opinion of  
  
Your Obedient Servant  
Dr. Julia Kell, MD  
  
"I might have suspected something of the sort," Lara had mused after crumpling the letter  
and tossing it in the rubbish bin. She, of course, had no intention of speaking to the brazen  
German again, much less telling her of the abduction that the psychologist herself might have  
prevented if she hadn't been so bent on being entertained.   
  
Marina Popov was still staying at her house when she returned and the good lady confirmed  
Lara's suspicions that Kell had packed up and departed immediately after penning the note. She  
also disclosed the knowledge that it had been Kell who told Bartoli the haunting phrases from her  
dreams so he could say them to Lara and Kell could observe her reaction, which the German  
doubtless had done. Lara thanked Marina profusely and paid the hypnotist the fee she had agreed  
upon, but just before the gorgeous Russian exited the mansion, Lara handed her the  
watch/compass. "Thank you for lending this to me," she said with a small smile. "How did you  
know I would need it?"  
  
Marina laughed and slid the relic back into her pocket. "Intuition, I suppose, and perhaps the  
knowledge that when one is kidnaped, one loses all sense of direction and might need a compass  
to guide their way. Well, goodbye, dear comrade. Until we meet again, eh?" She extended a  
slender green nailed hand to her host who shook it gladly. And with that, the blonde expatriate  
disappeared out the door of the large brick manor.   
  
The next day, as Lara was sitting at her kitchen table negotiating her passport to Italy over the  
phone, she had heard a small scratching at the side door that lead to her obstacle course. Curious,  
she had quickly terminated her phone conversation and crossed the room to investigate. The  
moment she opened the door, a frightened looking grey-and-white kitten had stumbled into the  
house. His coat was so fluffy and downy to the touch that Lara deducted he must be a Persian or  
at least a Persian mix. She picked the furry creature up and examined it carefully, noting that he  
had no collar or ID tag. As soon as she did, she found that its coat was soaked clear to the skin  
even though the sky was blue and cloudless without even a drop of rain. Her heart completely  
melted as soon as she had gazed into his pitiful blue eyes and heard its frightened meows. "Poor  
darling," she had cooed to the unfortunate feline as he squirmed in her arms, sending droplets of  
water cascading to the newly cleaned tile floor. "Someone must have tried to drown you as part  
of an unwanted litter, for you never would be able to climb out of my obstacle course pools had  
you fallen in." She held the kitten close to her bosom and walked over to the stove to heat some  
milk for the animal. The kitten mewed in a soft, pitiful voice, as though it was too weak to fight  
the stranger's aid even if it had wanted to.   
  
After feeding the kitten and cleaning it up a bit, Lara set it on the floor and watched pad the tiles  
for a few minutes before curling up in an adorable ball to nap under the table. "I must think of a  
suitable name for such a dear creature," she said to herself. Suddenly, the sight of Bartoli rolling  
down the snowbank and lying limp at the bottom came into her mind. She remembered how her  
heart had gone out to him at that moment just as it had to this helpless kitten now. She also  
recalled her wild terror as she covered her mouth and gazed at Bartoli's horrid act of self-  
destruction, how she had wished there was something she could do to save him. She had failed in  
rescuing him, she had, in fact, put an end to his life in the dragon state, but that didn't mean she  
couldn't save the cute bundle of fur snoozing contentedly under the kitchen table. "Your name  
should be the same as the man I failed to aid," she whispered to the sleeping kitty. "I shall call  
you Marco Kitty."  
  
Lara had just christened the cat with this name when Winston entered the room and spied the  
sleeping fur-ball under the table. "Oh, no, Miss Croft!" he said in great alarm. "You aren't  
considering keeping that flea-infested feline, are you?"  
  
"Of course, I am Winston!" Lara snapped in annoyance. "Marco Kitty needs me, and I am going  
to care for him whether you like it or not."  
  
Winston tried to hide a slight smile as he asked, "You've heard of Ogden Nash, haven't you?"  
  
Lara blinked with genuine bafflement. "Yes, I have, but what has that got to do with anything?"  
  
"If you will recall, in his famous poem 'The Kitten,' he says," Winston cleared his throat before  
reciting the humorous verse, "'The trouble with a kitten is THAT Eventually it becomes a  
CAT.'"  
  
Lara stifled a chuckle and replied, "Thanks for the advice, Winston, but I think I can handle one  
of *those* as well."  
  
The two old friends smiled at each other in the complete understanding that usually accompanies  
such a long term relationship. Then, Lara returned to her passport-seeking and Winston quitted  
the room to whence he had come.   
  
A week later, Lara had arrived in Via Caravelli and experienced all the glories of the Venice  
levels that every Tomb Raider fan adores. At the close of these levels, is of course, the first and  
only cut scene featuring a direct confrontation between our heroine and Marco Bartoli in his  
human form. She had experienced this episode with a trembling heart, pistols aimed at her former  
captor, wondering if the wrathful Italian would remember her kindness to him the previous week  
and spare her life. She didn't have much time to think before she was knocked unconscious by  
Eros, but when she awoke- ah when she awoke- what a feeling of relief swept over her! The very  
fact she was still alive attested to Bartoli's recognition of her sacrifice the week before. So he did  
have a feeling of protectiveness over his saving angel after all. In the first few seconds of  
consciousness, she felt so confused about the whole situation that she wanted to cry and laugh at  
the same time. She had reached a new milestone by earning her enemy's respect and trust before  
fighting him, and she had won! She was almost positive she could now retrieve the Dagger with  
impunity. But as she heaved the heavy boxes with the faded Fiama Nera insignia emblazoned on  
them around the room of the small chamber, trying to escape, she suddenly felt a feeling of pity,  
almost guilt, for what she had done. What if the situations had been reversed? What if she had  
spared Bartoli's life and he had turned around and killed her? Right then and there, she made a  
vow not to kill him unless absolutely necessary to her survival. It was the least she could do for  
him after he had spared her. Her possessing Dagger just didn't seem to matter anymore if it  
endangered her opponent's life. With renewed vigor and determination, she had continued to  
push the crates until she found an escape route . . .   
  
Lara snapped back to reality when she accidently inhaled a cloud of bubbles and began to cough.  
After regaining her ability to breathe, Lara realized that the water had become unbearably cool  
and proceeded to drain the tub. As she slipped her robe on, she wondered why she had formed  
this attachment to Bartoli at all. Was she getting soft or something? She remembered something  
that she had read once of a group of captives in Stockholm who had bonded so deeply with their  
captor for whatever reason that when they were rescued, they wanted to stay with him. One of  
them had actually fallen in love with the kidnaper! Lara shook her head as she began to rub her  
wet hair with the towel. Had she actually fallen victim to the infamous Stockholm Syndrome?  
She returned the towel to its rightful place, braided her hair for the night, gazed into the glass,  
and sighed. She would probably never know exactly what had happened to her heart and mind  
during the last few weeks, and she really didn't care. However, it would give her something to  
think to herself about every once in a while.   
  
Lara exited the bathroom and picked up the Dagger from its temporary resting place on her bed.  
She felt Marco Kitty weaving through her legs and she smiled. That cat had certainly been dismal  
when she left for Italy and so overjoyed when she returned that she feared he would have a heart  
attack. But he had calmed down after she had sat on her staircase petting him for a half hour  
before retiring to her much needed bath. Now, he was obviously hungry for attention once more,  
so she scratched his head with one hand, the other still clutching the dagger. As soon as he  
started purring, she ceased her attentions and he disappeared under her bed. She sat on the bed  
admiring the shiny blade and wondering about life in general for a few moment before she heard  
a commotion arise on the lawn. She raised an eyebrow and slid her treasure under her pillow as  
the sirens began to go off. She glanced out the window and saw a large black van with the Fiama  
Nera symbol on its side and thugs and Dobermans pouring out of the back. Marco hissed at the  
smell of the dogs who were pounding up the stairs and darted out of the room to hide in the attic  
where he would be safe until the crisis was over. Lara grimaced as she unlocked the ammunition  
closet beside the bed. Her eyes flitted over the grenade launcher she had found in the T-Rex den  
in China and she paused for a brief second to wonder about how it had been left in that alcove.  
She figured that when Claudio was setting up the zing line, he must've had to go into the valley  
to reach the other side first. That would also explain the ladder that had been erected on the side  
of the stone wall that she had climbed down. The T-Rexes probably attacked, and Claudio had  
hid in the alcove until they disappeared, his grenade gun poised and ready. For whatever reason,  
he had not been pressed to make use of it and had merely left it in the cave lest such a dire  
situation arise again. Then, she had found it and used it to destroy the reptiles upon her arrival in  
the valley. "But back to the current situation," Lara said determinedly as she retrieved her  
shotgun. Some things will never change, no matter what syndromes may come and go, she  
thought as she loaded the gun. "For example," she said aloud, "this!" She exited the closet aimed  
her gun at the thug who had just entered her bedroom and he slumped to the floor. "Something  
tells me I'll always have *this* to deal with."  
  
  
The End!  
  
Stockholm Syndrome  
Copyright 2000-2001 By Alexis Rockford  
  
"The Kitten" from Verses from 1929 by Ogden Nash. Copyright 1940 by Ogden Nash and Curtis  
Publishing Co., renewed 1968 by Ogden Nash. Please don't sue. :) 


	10. Outtakes: A Dreamer of Nightmares

AN: Yes, here they are: the Outtakes to Chapter One: A dreamer of Dreams. Inspired by Mallow  
Ornitier's Bloopers. If you like, me post more. If you don't like, me post more, too!  
Muwahahahaha! -Alexis Rockford  
  
LARA is sprawled out on a leopard-skin davenport and gazing at a map.   
  
DIRECTOR and CAMERAMAN are offstage getting ready for the shoot.  
  
DIRECTOR: And action!  
  
LARA (using a lipstick tube to mark the map and applying the remainder to her face): Look, I'm  
Sophia Leigh! Wait, who is she?  
  
DIRECTOR'S VOICE offstage: An enemy you won't meet until Tomb Raider 3.  
  
LARA: Oh.  
  
Suddenly, LARA makes a strange gagging noise and runs to wash the mess off, but its too late.  
She looks in the mirror and beholds the face of one of the Damned  
  
LARA: Arrrrrrrgh! I look like a freak!  
  
*beep*  
  
Later in the scene . . .   
  
LARA is lazily stretching, showing off her long, muscular thighs, sexy legs, and a corner of her  
Barbie print underwear sticking out through her shorts. She spots it just in time to say: Whoops!  
Nobody look Ok?  
  
DIRECTOR'S VOICE offstage: Whatever Lara, but this is a take.  
  
LARA in alarm: It is? Shoot!  
  
*beep*  
  
WINSTON enters bearing a tray laden with tea and sandwiches: Your Earl Grey, Miss Croft.  
  
LARA in a dignified manner: Thank you, Winston.  
  
LARA pours the tea and helps herself to a few watercress sandwiches. Suddenly, as she bits into  
one she begins to choke.  
  
LARA: My God, Winston! What did you put in these?  
  
WINSTON smugly: Why, pickled pig snout of course.  
  
LARA (looking green): Excuse me.  
  
LARA exits the set to throw up in the bathroom.   
  
*beep*   
  
LARA (on the phone with her travel agent): Hello, Griggs? I wish to charter a plane to Beijing  
tomorrow morning and an autogiro from Beijing to the far north end of the Great Wall at 11:00  
p.m. Greenwich Mean Time. Yes, I would like to leave immediately if at all possible. Yes, I'll  
hold . . .  
  
LARA clamps the receiver between her shoulder and her ear and casually began filing her nails.  
Suddenly, her face turns white with rage.   
  
LARA: What! My manicurist has completely destroyed my nails! What is this, the bitten look?  
This is intolerable!  
  
DIRECTOR (offstage): CUT!  
  
*beep*  
  
WINS. (with a sad look on his face): Traveling abroad again, Miss Croft?"   
  
LARA (gazing at him in disbelief): You should know me by now, Winston. I get restless if I  
reside in my domicile for more than a week."  
  
WINS. (aside): That's a mouthful to say, isn't it?  
  
*beep*  
  
LARA hugs her heart-shaped satin pillow to her chest and scowls. A loud ripping noise is  
heard.  
  
LARA (looking at the tag on the pillow): Made in China. Why am I not surprised?  
  
*beep*  
  
LARA (to herself): Well you got what you longed for anyhow. You wanted to be a loner and here  
you are. You have no friends, no relations; all you've got is you. You looked for a hero and found  
it- in yourself.  
  
The music to "The Greatest Love of All" suddenly fills the room.  
  
LARA (singing off key): Everybody's searching for heros. People need someone to look up to. I  
never found anyone who fulfilled my neeeeeeeeeeed. . . (skips a few bars) so I learned to depend  
on me. I deciiiiiiiiided looooooooong ago never to walk in anyone's shaaaadow . . .  
  
DIRECTOR and CAMERAMEN are plugging their ears.  
  
*beep*  
  
LARA dully glances at a newspaper. Her eye carelessly scanned a picture of an imposing man  
wearing a brown fedora and holding a long whip. She does a double take.  
  
LARA: What the bloody hell is this picture of Indiana Jones doing here?  
  
*beep*  
  
AN: Did you like it? Were they funny? Huh? Please review! 


	11. Outtakes: The Great Fall

Chapter Two: The Great Wall  
  
  
AN: This will be short due to the fact that Mallow Ornitier has already done bloopers on the  
Great Wall segment.   
  
The scene enters with LARA peacefully snoozing in bed, her bottom creating a huge lump under  
the covers as she's sleeping with it in the air.  
  
Suddenly, her CLOCK RADIO ALARM goes off.   
  
SONNY BONO's voice fills the silence of the early dawn.  
  
SONNY (through the CLOCK RADIO): . . . Then put your little hand in mine, there aint no hill  
or mountain we can't climb . . .  
  
LARA (muttering to herself): I know. Get your booties on, it's gonna be cold outside cause its-  
  
LARA springs from her bed and begins to dance around the room frantically as if she's suddenly  
slipped a cog.   
  
LARA (shouting): GROUNDHOG DAY! Muwahahahahaha!   
  
DIRECTOR (offstage): uh, Lara . . .  
  
*beep*  
  
Cut to outside the Mansion. It is still dark outside with only the last hints of moonlight shedding  
their parting rays on the morning dusk. (Ooh, poetic! Me like it!)  
  
LARA exits the mansion and crunches across the driveway to her garage to get her ROLLS  
ROYCE. She slips the key into the ignition and backs out of the garage. Suddenly, she steps on  
the gas and aims for the large iron gates that separate her house and driveway from her large front  
yard. The gates are still closed because she forgot to open them.  
  
LARA (in a panicked voice): Oh, sh-  
  
The ROLLS ROYCE slams into the gate, causing it to cave in on itself and trap poor Lara.  
  
CREW (running onto the set): Miss Croft, are you alright?  
  
LARA (weakly from inside the wreckage): -it.  
  
*beep*  
  
  
  
LARA is rushing through HEATHROW AIRPORT to reach the gate of her departure to China.  
She feels as though millions of evil eyes following her every move.  
  
LARA (chiding herself): Don't be so paranoid.   
  
Just then, the carry-on bag she is clutching sprouts arms and starts clawing at her.   
  
LARA: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!  
  
LARA tries to fend off the monster luggage, but now other peoples' carry-on totes are escaping  
from their owners, sprouting arms and coming after her.   
  
LARA (screaming even louder that before): Heeeeeeeelllllllllp! Killer luuuuuuugggggggage!  
  
PASSERSBY are staring at her as if she was insane.   
  
One MAN says to his WIFE: Hollywood people! They think they are so much better than  
everyone else until our lovely living luggage snags them and teaches them a lesson or two.  
  
WIFE: Quite right. I don't know how we'd get along without the little dears.   
  
The MAN and WIFE smile proudly as their darling baggage chases Lara into her departure gate.  
  
*beep*  
  
LARA is walking across the grounds at the BEIJING AIRPORT towards a bright red sign of  
familiar Chinese characters. She begins to run as soon as she sees her pilot, Yang Ho, smiling at  
her from his chopper.   
  
YANG: Welcome aboard, Miss Lara! It is very nice to see you again."  
  
LARA nods and begins singing: I like Chinese! I like Chinese! They're cute and they're cuddly-  
  
YANG (finishing the line for her): and we're ready to please!  
  
LARA and YANG begin to give each other high fives and do the Macarena.   
  
DIRECTOR: CUT! That was beautiful you guys did such a nice job with that scene.  
  
YANG (beginning to weep): The emotional significance is almost too much.  
  
LARA (sympathetically): Aw, Yang I love you too.   
  
LARA and YANG give each other a big bear hug.   
DIRECTOR (aside): Actors!  
  
*beep*  
  
AN: Well that's all for today! Hahaha! I hope you enjoyed them. I'm skipping the entire next  
chapter because it is all from the level that Mallow so artfully has already parodied. C U soon!-  
Alexis Rockford. 


End file.
